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Dirge of the Skulltaker
Epigraph "Will you dance with me, Lady Waters?" And a bony hand plucked her gown. "Will you dance with me," said the Hooded One "For the plague has reached this town." "No,I will not dance," said the Lady, "For I know your name is Death." And behind her mask she sweated At the Hooded One's fetid breath. -Unknown STAGE ONE: Fresh I remember my death. It was a calm little thing, like drifting off into a slumber from whence one never awoke. It wasn't full of the pains and anguish of old age, or sickness-a spear through the head is a peaceful exit from this mortal coil, comparatively speaking. A valiant fight is only valiant for as long as your blood slinks around your body, oozing through every vein. I put up a valiant fight, but in the end, my body was broken, my brain destroyed-what part of my body still tingled with the essence of life would soon have that essence siphoned off into the aether, and I would be left a husk, another number on a statistic for some mad conqueror. One death is a tragedy, after all, but I was one of thousands. There's simply no point dwelling on the unfairness of it all. I don't-well, didn't care. I was dead, and there's not much to care about when you're dead. I'd never been superstitious-there wasn't room for it with my people-but looking back on it, I think I would have rather stayed dead. It was a sort of bliss, being in that way-I salivate on thinking of how comforting the entrapment of death was, how warm it was to me. It's a cause for interest how I remember how it felt, of course, but I really couldn't care for the answer. Some things don't need explaining. They simply need to be there. I don't know how long I stayed dead-to this day, no Makori who has not matured has ever lived long enough in my presence to tell me the date-but I assume it was some time, for what was once the mighty Arch-Council of Tyranis came crashing down about their ears. Where once the Imperian Confederacy had crumbled before their might, now the hunters stood on the back foot. It was in this time I found myself dragged from my mass grave alongside my brothers and my sisters, skulking out of the pit from where we had been banished. I found myself chained, almost, but with no physical restraints-only a constant pounding in the back of my mind, and a hissing that could drive lesser men insane. I was a lesser man, but my death meant I could be given no such amenities, and my sanity was remained mercilessly intact. My flesh still hung onto my bones, with I being perhaps the least fetid and horrific of my brethren. I had a childhood friend beside me, his eye sockets empty, his once boyish and delicate posture now having turned to shambling. Was he aware of me? Or was I the only one? This I would never find out-the mystery of my death, destined to remain unsolved. We marched forth, a tide of undead creatures, under the banner of Bartherious, the Skull Dominator. We were the reanimated, the Skull Swarms, and henceforth, we were the harbingers of chaos and anarchy. There is no sweeter chalice than that of fresh blood. STAGE TWO: Bloat We marched through oceans of time, searching for the victims our master would have us rend. Sometimes, hapless travellers would find themselves in our way, and shortly after our legion would increase in number. There was no rest for the living, least of all the wicked. We were like angels of pestilence, for in our odd little way, I suppose we were beautiful. We were uniform, and consistent; we were predictable; and indeed, we were of the same mind. There was no greater collective than ours, not at that time, and we acted as one organism. Each of us was a body, with a mind as a mere appendage to aid in its execution. It is at this time our legion, however, lost some of its beauty, for the natural process of decay was an ever-growing issue. The plague upon flesh riddled our legion with abscesses and bloats, meaning our travel over water would be nigh impossible. It was a pity, to be sure, but I cared little for my compatriots. I had long since discovered that, whether or not they were aware of things, only I seemed to retain my own spirit, my own state of mind. Bartherious was, as ever, marching at the head of our swarm, with the staff which caused dull thuds in my mind whenever I looked upon it directly pointed at the sky. To be an undead was a curious experience, but I had little opportunity to explore it in those early days. Mercifully, my decay was not so dishonorable, and I took great pleasure in watching another shuffling form topple over and begin to crawl beside me, knowing I could never sink so low. Finally, with weeks upon weeks of travel, of our legion swelling and thinning haphazardly as more of us crumbled to decay and more foolhardy adventurers found their doom, we came across our first true victims. Now, we had purpose, and truly, did we act it out with prejudice. The men came out first, prodding at us with their spears and torches. Some of my brethren caught alight, only to take one of those warriors by the face and burn him irreparably. It matters little-his flesh would fall in time, regardless. They fell quickly and with little impact to our momentum, and Bartherious rose them to join our ranks. The women came next, armed with what they could pick up, but most were simply too horrified by their husbands, brothers, and fathers marching with cold, dead eyes at them, and they fell even more easily. Once again, our legion was bolstered. Then...came the children. I remember only small forms, at first looking up at their mothers and fathers with such palpable innocence. I remember a peace in their first reactions that I perhaps thought may melt Bartherious' steel heart and elicit mercy from him. Oh, to this day, I believed I would rather have served an eternity as a living corpse if it had meant my thoughts were aligned with the truth. What unspeakable horror, even by my cynical lens of this reality, took place that day should not be uttered, and never again. To detail the screams, the young bodies spasmodically lunging at each other as they were risen in combat... Such evil was incomprehensible to these children. Perhaps they thought their parents were punishing them for their wrongdoings. What I saw that day made me desire the view of Rah’Gerrok himself, for at least then the insanity he caused was an escape. Here, there was no escape. There was only horror...and the death of youth. STAGE THREE: Active Our legion now numbered over one hundred thousand, varying from freshly reanimated corpses to shambling relics of a bygone era. We butchered and pillaged tens of villages in our way, each time rising in strength, and in number; soon, we began seeing the beginnings of a general panic, with some villages evacuating before we could pursue those who retreated. Some stayed behind valiantly to defend their homes-but valiance only lasts as long as blood flows in the veins. I saw two individuals in this time, in the legion, who seemed to share my self-awareness. I would commit them to memory, for indeed, this was a fact worth remembering. By now, my flesh had long since rotted away, and I was a shambling skeleton, clad in rusted armor, with a blunt sword as my weapon. My armaments were typical for a member of this legion, although many of these undead simply clawed at the living. This sword and this armor would serve me well in the time I used them. Curiously, and somewhat thankfully, I never felt compelled to touch a child, unlike the others; whether this was of my own volition or of Bartherious' notice, I would not say, nor did I care, for it benefited me immensely, and I would not dare question it. The time came for our confrontation with the Primis, and their compatriots. I remember a colossal white titan of a Erthus, immense in stature, indomitable in action. We had enjoyed countless victories, and our meeting with our great lord, Tyranis, as well as his armies, had begun to make our bones complacent. This Erthus Titan, Kratindikur, cut a swathe through our legion single-handedly, with his elementally charged weaponry destroying their bodies utterly. The rest of our lord's armies fared far better, and Tyranis himself marched forth to fell ten Erthus with each swipe of his staff. The fateful moment arrived when he miscalculated one swing directed at Ignithitus, the marshal of the Erthus armies, to finish him, and this fatal mistake cost Tyranis his physical form, and the Diobalith their total defeat. Bartherious was defeated and forced to retreat, as did the surviving Diobalith, and as he left, I saw my brothers and sisters crumble around me. I felt an odd sensation of floating, as if I were to ascend into the realm of death once more. I felt utter bliss for a second that seemed to last forever; and then, it was gone. I still stood, my mind unshackled, in a sea of bones and rusted weapons. Two others stood, too-a woman and a child-but before I might ask them what to make of all this, they turned and fled. I followed suit, and it seemed as if the Erthus had no intention of tying up loose ends as I was mercifully left alone. My bones were chilled, and for the first time I felt each movement I made. I was not merely an observer of my own body, now-I was the controller, the driver behind it. I was doomed to a miserable existence of walking the universe, shattered as I was in my undeath; yet, a spark of inspiration occurred to me. My people, the male Tudari of my world, were still the downtrodden, under the boot of the matriarchy that oppressed their strength and capability. Now, I possessed the ability to strike them down-for in those brief moments of bliss, I had taken up the strength of my lord and my master. Now, I was strong. Now, I was one...of the Diobalith. STAGE FOUR: Advanced I returned to my homeworld as a stowaway, posing as a corpse for the mass graves on my world, my bones being recognizable as belonging to a Tudari. Before they could deliver me, I killed each of the female crew members and released the male slaves from their work in the engine room. I told them of my return, and that I would rule the planet and free them from their chains. They swore to follow me, and I imbued each of them with the smallest of energies to make them at least somewhat useful to me. We burned the bodies of the female inhabitants, and jettisoned their ashes to the cold reaches of space. When we landed, I walked out to greet the party that questioned us. Some of them ran, some of them vomited out of sheer horror, but one foolhardy woman made a strike at me with her sword. I caught her arm, and snapped it effortlessly. I then removed it and the weapon altogether, and dealt with her as she had intended to me. My disciples came from the vessel, chanting, and by now the composure of some of the guards had returned to them. They made a movement to my cult, and I dispatched each one of them, snapping their necks, or twisting their spines to paralyze them. Performance of the latter, in particular, gave me great pleasure, as it was a traditional method of execution practiced by the female Tudari to male revolutionaries. I took their weapons, arming my followers, and we marched on the capital. I released each of the male slaves that was imprisoned, and I amassed a legion which rivalled the Skull Swarm in size. The proletariat of this society stood behind me, and I was an avatar of a Utopian future. They idolized my form, and I delivered their praise to each of the females who stood against me. Those who submitted to my rule were given their lives, but in the position I had once been in. I found the empress-a formidable woman who had been born of the lineage of Bolynnus-and she was faster than I gave her credit. Until this point, no person had landed a blow on me, and as she sliced my arm from its socket, my skeletal appendage clattering on the ground. She turned to her courtiers as if triumphant, but she was so very wrong. I grabbed her neck from the rear, turning her to face me, having her stare into my empty sockets as I squeezed the life from her helpless, struggling form. Her courtiers stood in shock, and I held her above my head. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and I threw her to the floor. The advisers were horrified, of course, but not broken-and thus, I hit the final chisel to the stone of my new throne. I rose her from the dead, and her reanimated form shambled to pick up my arm, attaching it to my body. I now controlled their empress with my own will. I was the ruler of the Tudari people, and they capitulated at my might. I took my seat upon the throne, and declared my lordship. There were small pockets of resistance across the planet, and I crushed each and every one myself. Each time, I would raise their leader and add it to my collection of rebels-a constant reminder to any dissidents that my rule was never to be challenged. The Cult of the Skeleton King came into being, led by my first disciples, and each of them worked to bring about the societal change I was too busy to conduct. Soon, the tables had been turned, but I was not an altogether immoral ruler. Shreds of my morality refused to be defeated by the darkness of my state, and I decreed that any woman that was born after my rule was asserted would be given the same freedoms as any male. Those who oppressed and enslaved us would suffer for one generation, and then the new would live in an idealistic world, where each Tudari was given equal opportunity for their ambition to manifest. Several decades passed in this time, and my cult never lessened in popularity. I was a God to these people, their savior and redeemer; I had earned the title, and lived somewhat contentedly on my own terms. Then came the Confederacy. They declared my ruling of the planet to be immoral and improper, and sought to take me in for crimes against the living. My seething anger had no room for mercy to their messenger, who spoke with such arrogance, and I added him to my cabinet of the dead. I replied that when the men had been enslaved, there were no such talks, and there was no such rescue attempt; the Confederacy closed all communications and simply declared war on this small planet. An entire empire arrayed against me, but I would not give in. My people would retain their position, and I would fight with every fiber of my newfound powers to achieve it. I marched to war, walking in the footsteps of my master; and whilst one day I declare that he shall die by my hand for what he has done, perhaps it shall be a quick death, for without him, I would not have the means to my mantle. I was a Skeleton King, and I would have blood. STAGE FIVE: Remains I amassed the largest and most indomitable army that had ever been assembled outside of the Confederacy by one species. I rose a burning legion of hatred, unbound by the secrecy that Bartherious was, and my military numbered in the millions. Each of my cult leaders were given a small token of my power to lead their own divisions of this corpse brigade, and in troves we assaulted every world within our reach. I commanded that no child was to be hurt, and re-homed each orphan on the homeworld, where they were raised as our own. Our armies would swarm across their worlds, conquering the Confederacy once and for all to end their tyranny over the elements. Alas, such a fate was not to be. In time, we reached their capital, Magnus Impera, where the very strongest of the Erthus arrayed themselves against us. I personally led the charge against the Erthus, and once again I saw the white giant, Kratindikur. With my artefact blade, I disarmed him, and had him taken prisoner. The rest of his team, the Erthus Titan, were far too pre-occupied with my hordes to impede my progress, and I made my way to the final artefact I needed to create my lasting legacy. I needed Vitacis, the Helm of Life, to spell death for those who threatened the peace I envisioned. I found my way into the inner sanctum, and touched the mask, feeling the rush of power and control wash over me. I truly was a God incarnate for that brief moment, and I almost placed the mask upon my face.' Then came the Primis. They were known as the Erthus-Knights, for their power and raw elemental strength were totally unrivalled. Besides Ignithitus, their leader, stood the rest of the Primis. I grew complacent, and in my arrogance I made my one and only fatal mistake. I underestimated the power of my enemies. In my defence, I had the Vitacis! I was a God; I controlled life itself! Outside this sanctum, my hordes overran every last bastion the Erthus had established, and to my knowledge, the Primis possessed no strength that could equal mine. I accepted their challenge, believing this to merely be a product of their misbegotten stubbornness, and clashed swords with each of them. I defeated them in turn, and just as I was to strike the killing blow, I felt my head loosen, my neck unbound, and my vision toppled to the floor, my body falling along with it. In an instant, my skeleton hordes crumbled and fell, and my last sight before the blackness conquered me was that of my chief cult leader, looking down at me in horror. I had become the very thing that I had sworn to destroy. I was a tyrant, and my final death would be my redemption. The Vitacis released energy which returned the life I had decimated to the way it should have been, and all my efforts, all my suffering, was undone. I embraced the warmth once more, and felt myself slipping away towards the peace I had long since desired. As the gates on my life began to close, one being put their foot in the door. His voice made Bartherious' seem lilting and sweet by comparison, and his presence was instantly identifiable. Tyranis, the Prime Evil. He told me all the good I had done for the Tudari people, all the changes in society, would be overturned and removed if I were to die. My people would be enslaved to an oppressive matriarchy once more, and he told me of a future he had foreseen in which no male existed at all, for the females had mastered asexual reproduction. All the while, the Confederacy stood and watched as a near-genocide took place, and did not conduct intervention. I lashed out at him, threatening him, and he told me that which instilled me with dread I had never felt before; there was nothing I could do. In this form, anyway. He made me an offer I tried desperately to refuse-become one of his heralds, his Apex Dozen, and he would ensure peace for my people. Could I be prepared to sacrifice my morality, my last, best chance at entering the darkness as I had been intended for? Were my people worth the struggle? In my cold, dead heart, the answer was clear. He reanimated me, bestowing me with immense new powers, new artefacts, and impenetrable armor plating. He gave me a purpose-to pave the way for his revival, and to ensure that he would walk this planet once more. I am Skarthion, the Skull Taker, and with the forces of heaven arrayed against me, I shall raise hell. '''Epilogue "And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." -Dylan Thomas Category:Magnus Imperus Category:Stories